The Dark One: Dark Knight (86 page)

     She felt herself approaching the familiar,
exquisite release and she silently urged him onward, her entire body aching
with want of pleasure. One arm unwound itself from her and he reached between
her legs, closing in on her wet heat and feeling the junction where their
bodies were joining in passion.  It was too much; he released himself with a
violent eruption and she joined him as his fingers found her taut nub.

     He had manipulated her into a stupor. When
their convulsions died down, Remington was limp. Eyes closed, she could only
lie there and feel his body still within her, hearing his soft laughter.

     They lay together, sweating in the humidity
of the afternoon, dozing occasionally. Truth was, neither one had slept well
the night before and they were tired. Now that things were as they should be,
as they were together once again, the comfort was overwhelming.

     They fell asleep in the huge bed, the lazy
afternoon waning away in a haze of heat and thickness. Just before sunset,
Gaston awoke and found himself staring at the back of Remington's head,
studying the curls in her hair leisurely and his mind wandering to silly,
unimportant things. It was in moments such as this that he felt they had all of
the time in the world.

     A loud rap echoed on the heavy oak door and
Gaston's head shot up, looking at the panel as if he could see through it. “Who
comes?”

     “Me!” de Tormo called out sharply. “Let me
in.”

     Remington woke, rolling onto her back and
she and Gaston passed wry glances. He was the first one to climb from the bed,
reaching for his trews. “Hold a moment, priest.”

     Remington tossed her legs over the side of
the bed, slowly moving for her shift and grunting softly with the effort. He
smiled at her. “You move like an old woman.”

     “I feel like an old woman,” she agreed,
pulling the shift over her head. “In fact, I am old. I am almost twenty-seven
years old.”

     He snorted. “And I am thirty-seven. What
does that make me? Ancient?”

     She looked sharply at him. “Are you really
that old? Good lord, Gaston, did you know Socrates personally?”

     He laughed deeply.” Really, Remi; how
heartless you are.”

     She grinned, pulling on the surcoat. Be
pulled his shirt on and helped her with the stays. Outside in the hall, de
Tormo knocked again.

     “Open the door, de Russe.”

     “I am coming,” Gaston mumbled, jerking on a
boot. The other boot slipped on as Remington straightened her hair and tried to
look unruffled. Gaston waited until she was seated by the window before he
obliged the priest's request.

     De Tormo breezed in, smelling so foul that
Remington could smell him from where she sat. The man obviously did not believe
in bathing.

     Even Gaston wrinkled his nose. “What is it,
priest?”

     “I knew I would find her here,” he said
shortly. “Gaston, I come with news.”

     “What news?”

     De Tormo looked at Remington. “Peter
Courtenay has ordered that Lady Remington be placed in the custody of the
church,” he watched her face go pale. “It would seem that after the lady's
meeting with her husband, Guy summoned Courtenay personally and convinced the
man that she was being forced into requesting an annulment against her will. He
managed to persuade the bishop into believing the lady is somehow in danger and
Courtenay has placed all further annulment proceedings on hold until the matter
is clarified.”

     Gaston's face was beyond grim. He was
stunned. He gazed at Remington, who could only stare back helplessly.

     “Oh, Gaston...,” she breathed.

     But de Tormo wasn't finished. He threw up
his hand to prevent any further conversation.

     “There's more, Gaston,” he said. “Remington
is to be taken away to a place of the church's choosing and you will be not be
allowed access to her. In fact, they will not tell you where she will be
sequestered. They seem to think that time and separation might clear the lady's
mind.”

     Gaston was already moving for Remington. He
pulled her up into his arms, holding her closely against him. De Tormo watched
slow tears trickle down Remington's cheeks, her face half-buried in his chest.

     “There is nothing we can do?” Gaston asked
tightly.

     De Tormo shook his head slowly. “Not at the
moment. To refuse to cooperate would surely bring the archbishop's wrath, not
to mention they would probably order the lady to stay with her husband.”

     Gaston was silent a moment, stroking
Remington's hair. “How long of a separation?”

     “They are speaking in terms of months, at
least,” de Tormo replied, greatly saddened that he had been unable to argue
successfully against separation. “I tried. God knows I did. And I shall still
try, but at this moment, Courtenay is sending his personal guard to escort
Remington to Saint Catherine's. From there, she will be spirited away until
this can be settled.”

     Gaston was shocked and angered, but he held
his temper and his tongue. He knew there was nothing to say, at least not to de
Tormo, and he could do nothing more than comply with the orders. If he were to
defy them, then the situation would look very much as if he were forcing
Remington in all of this. He had to cooperate and he knew it.

     But there was still Henry. If he had to get
down on his knees to the king and to every bloody bishop in England, he would.
This challenge would not go entirely unanswered.

     “Remington's possessions are at Braidwood,”
he said hoarsely, feeling her soft sobs against him.

     “I know,” de Tormo replied. “She will not
be taken away until after supper, since you are dining with Henry. There will
be time to collect them.”

     Gaston looked drawn. De Tormo walked up
slowly on the two of them, wishing he could say something encouraging. He
couldn't think of anything as far as the church was concerned, but he did bring
a few tidbits that might lighten the darkness.

     “You have my support on this, as you know,”
he said quietly. “Courtenay is truly not trying to be cruel, Gaston, but he is
acting on higher orders. Archbishop Thomas Bourchier of Canterbury has
commanded him to act in this manner. I have a meeting with the papal legate,
John of Imola, in two days and I hope to sway him on your behalf. Meanwhile,
the lady must go and Guy Stoneley is demanding to see you on the morrow.”

     Gaston's jaw ticked threateningly. “So that
he might gloat, no doubt. Is de Vere still here?”

     De Tormo smiled thinly. “He says he's not
leaving and he has every right to stay, considering he is the constable of the
Tower of London. In fact, he has sent for Lord Stanley, Earl of Derby, and his
brother Sir William to keep him…er, you…company. Edward Courtenay is on his way
here and de Vere has also sent word to Matthew Wellesbourne.” His smile turned
somewhat genuine. “It would seem that he is calling the premier fighting men to
your support, Gaston. If you cannot win the lady by legal means, mayhap every
powerful warrior in England can intimidate the hell out of the church and you
can take her by force. In any case, I would venture to say that you did not
realize you had so many powerful friends to rally behind you, did you?”

     Remington, gaining control of her shock,
wiped at her eyes. “Who are these men, Gaston?”

    
Friends.
They were his friends. “Men
who fought for Henry against Richard, the best warriors in England. They are
friends of mine.”

     De Tormo smiled at Remington. “Men who are
eager to heed the call and rally behind Gaston. This battle is not over by a
far sight, my lady, so do not lose hope,” he glanced up at Gaston again and
chuckled. “You will also be pleased to know that Henry's Uncle Jasper, the Duke
of Bedford, gave Bourchier an earful on your behalf. So did Lady Margaret.”

     “Beaufort?” Gaston looked surprised, though
his eyes were still glazed with grief. “I had no idea Henry's mother was in
London.”

     “Indeed,” de Tormo nodded.

     It was amazing what had transpired in the
languid afternoon while he and Remington had slept the hours away. He could
scarce believe it, all of it.

     De Tormo moved for the door, knowing the
two would want to spend their final time alone. “It would seem, de Russe, that
you do not need my help overly. You have every influential person in England to
spring to your defense. Still, I will do what I agreed to do.”

     “Thank you,” Remington had pulled herself
away from Gaston and went over to the priest, in spite of his putrid stench.
“For everything you have done and continue to do, de Tormo. We will be forever
grateful.”

     De Tormo flushed slightly around the neck.
“My pleasure, my lady. But I must confess, I am seriously considering using
your tale of devil worship to gain headway against my superiors. It may be our
secret weapon.”

     She smiled. “You would lie to help us?”

     “I would do what is right, and if that
entails a fib, so be it,” he left the room, closing the door softly.

     Remington turned to Gaston; he looked more
upset than she did. After hearing of all of the people that were uniting on Gaston's
behalf, she did not feel quite as hopeless for their cause. But the thought of
separation was tearing at her like a knife.

     But it upset her terribly to see how pale
and taut his face was. She knew the tremendous troubles he had on his mind, and
her hysterics would only weaken him further. Forcing herself to sport a brave
front, she went to him and they enveloped each other.

     “I will write my sisters and tell them
where I am,” she said. “You may find out where I am through them. Any messages
I must send you, I will do it through Jasmine and Skye.”

     “I do not know if you will be able to
reveal your whereabouts to them, angel,” he said. “But they will let you send
short missives to your family. You are clever in your thinking in that
respect.”

     She was silent a moment. “Guy hasn't
changed. He has always been a liar, but I hoped he was sincere when he said he
would deliver his terms tomorrow.”

     Gaston sighed deeply. “He still may,
considering he wishes to see me tomorrow,” he kissed the top of her head. “I am
sorry, angel. It seems things are not working out as easily as we had hoped.”

     “But they
will
work out,” she said
confidently. “Yet...the one thing that concerns me is the fact that de Tormo
said they were considering keeping me isolated for months. They will discover
my condition before too long.”

     “True enough. Mayhap that will only serve
to hasten the proceedings.”

     “But we shall be apart. What if we are
still apart by the time your son is born?”

     “I will not allow it. If I have to tear
down all of England to find you, I will. I will be by your side when you bring
my child into the world.”

     “Erik,” she sighed.

     “Or Adeliza.” He smiled for the first time.
“It could very well be a girl.”

     She looked up at him, running her hands
over his face, memorizing it. “Will you be disappointed?”

     “By God, Remi, of course not.” he
exclaimed. “Male or female, it makes no difference to me. Only that if it is a
girl, I will have to provide a sizable dowry and drain my coffers. Girls are
expensive.”

     “And boys are not?” she said with mild
outrage. “Boys require swords and shields and war implements and....”

     He kissed her firmly to shut her up. “It
could be twins, you know. One of each.”

     She rolled her eyes. “Say not so. I had a
difficult enough time giving birth to one child, much less two.”

     His smile vanished. “Dane was a difficult
birth? How difficult?”

     She could sense his fear; as if he needed
something new added to his substantial problems. “I did not mean it like that.
It was a normal birth, my love, but to every woman, birth is difficult. The
only true problem was Guy, because afterward, he....”

     “I know,” he said quickly; he did not want
to hear the brutal details again. It made him sick. He stroked her cheek. “I
have two sons, Remi. I would cherish a daughter. And I would take a third son.
“

     She smiled, warmed that he referred to Dane
as his son. The horror of her impending departure shoved into the recesses of
her mind, she hugged him fiercely. Were she to dwell on it any longer than a
moment or two, her hysteria would overtake her and she did not want to burden
him further.

     We had better return to Braidwood to secure
some your belongings,” he said finally. “And I am sure Uncle Martin will want
to bid you farewell. I 'm told he has grown quite fond of you.”

     She sat on the chair to pull on her hose
and slippers, securing the silk garters as he watched. “I wonder what I should
pack, considering I have no idea where they will be taking me.”

     “Warm clothes, love,” he murmured, his gaze
lingering on her a moment before retrieving his armor. Remington watched,
impressed, as he donned all of it unaided and quite efficiently.